


Syncable/Sinkable

by plutoniana



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, USS Archangel Fic Exchange, lots of feelings, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 20:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14245425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutoniana/pseuds/plutoniana
Summary: prompt: Reunion – Mirror Lorca and Prime Michael are (somehow) reunited post S1





	Syncable/Sinkable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maegfen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maegfen/gifts).



For all intents and purposes, the war has ended, but its haze of paranoia still lingers. Paranoia, that turns out to be more justified than not when the whispers of a Klingon-made biological weapon are confirmed through Starfleet’s top secret communication channels. This in itself would not have concerned USS Discovery, had the weapon in question not been, allegedly, running on a spore drive.

Commander Michael Burnham chewed on her lip as she listened to this news. Apparently, she has the privilege of going on a mission to gather more intel and, preferably, acquire the weapon plans. Admiral Cornwell seemed more reluctant than usual to send someone into a possible- if not likely- death trap. Michael wondered how many friends, crew and colleagues she has lost during those months the Discovery was absent.

And that is why, a very short while later, Michael stands in a narrow alley on a small, barely habitated moon just off Starbase 343, staring at some teashop’s back door, just meters away from the assigned meeting point.

She checks her communicator, but neither Tilly nor Saru have made contact yet. She decides that's probably a good thing, and opens the door.

Michael finds herself in a nondescript room, plain walls, no windows. She walks a slow circle around the room, observing, cataloguing. It passes as an office, barely. A makeshift desk and a chair, some PADDs strewn about. A small collection of strange artifacts crammed into a suitcase lying next to the desk. She leans forward to inspect them more closely, careful not to touch just in case they’re as dangerous as they are bizarre.

She finds nothing that tells her who the person she’s here to meet is, or what their motives for helping the Federation are.

Her snooping is interrupted by the creak of the door opening and before she even has the time to turn around, a familiar, gravelly voice calls out.

"Hello Michael."

She freezes, eyes widened in shock, adrenaline level spiking. She’s motionless for barely a heartbeat before instinct kicks in and she swiftly turns, phaser already in hand.

Gabriel Lorca stands in front of her, whole and very much alive.

Her mind races with possible explanations to what she’s seeing, her eyes roving over his form trying to make sure it’s not an illusion, a trick. Michael doesn’t know who or what’s in front of her, but she knows she doesn’t trust him.

"How?”, she demands. To her surprise, her voice doesn’t falter. “I saw you die, how are you here?"

Lorca grins. “Calm down Michael, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost."

The attempt at a joke falls flat since he might as well be. His face is pale and sunken, the blue of his eyes highlighted by the dark bags underneath. Yet there he is, alive and unharmed. Holding her gaze and pointedly ignoring the phaser aimed at his chest.

He raises his hands in a calming manner. “It’s me,” he insists. His voice is level and calm but there’s an almost imperceptible nervous twitch to his fingers. Lorca shakes his head, “I don’t know how, or why, but it’s really me.”

There’s something in his eyes Michael recognizes, hard determination, self-assured arrogance. The tiniest flicker of fear. Intense. Familiar.

It’s him. It is Lorca, the one she knew. Thought she knew. Thanks to whatever curse or miracle, Gabriel Lorca really is here and alive. Relief washes over her, followed closely by anxiety at the implications that the emotion brings, implications she does not have time to consider.

"Put down the phaser, Michael. I'm not going to hurt you."

It's true. She knows it the same way she knew he wouldn’t- couldn’t kill her on ISS Charon. There’s a sense of déjà vu to their current situation that could almost make her laugh. Michael shakes her head in resignation and lowers the phaser.

Lorca releases a small, relieved sigh and steps closer. She notices he’s still wearing the silver armor underneath his jacket, now with a stark, jagged, vertical slit in its center. It reveals nothing more than his undershirt but the sight still unnerves her. She can almost see the sword protruding from his chest, hear his surprised gasp as it impaled him.

She looks back up. “Why are you here?”

“I’m the informant you were sent to meet.”

“No, why are you _here_? In this universe, on this moon, alive?”

“Destiny?” he shrugs, almost teasingly. “The curious paths of the mycelial network? Take your pick, it’s as good a guess as any.”

She gives him a considering look but he doesn’t seem to be lying. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything anymore, but the issue of his resurrection is not her priority at the moment. Not to mention she’s worried what she might do or say if she doesn’t keep the conversation strictly to her mission objectives.

Michael keeps her tone curt and business-like. “Why are you helping us?” she inquires.

“Klingons have a weapon. I need a mode of transport,” he reasons. “A mode of transport Starfleet could provide, in their gratitude for my assistance.”

Michael raises a skeptical eyebrow. “And what makes you think Starfleet would be inclined to help you? Or anyone on Discovery for that matter?” She decides the unusable state of Discovery’s spore drive does not need mentioning.

He smirks. “Nothing. But I do think Starfleet would be inclined to try and avoid getting blown to shreds.”

She purses her lips, unconvinced.

He sighs, rolls his eyes. “Look, I don’t particularly want to stick around, and I’m sure Starfleet would love to get rid of me as well. There’s an Empire out there in desperate need of a leader,” he pauses, gauging her reaction. Michael doesn’t hide the disdain on her face. “And there’s nothing for me here,” he concludes.

The tone of his voice is detached, but Michael recognizes the question in it.

“How do you know Philippa hasn’t regained control of the Empire by now?” she bluffs.

Lorca’s mouth curves into a teasing smile. “As if you didn’t bring her back here with you?”

She can’t hide how the question startles her. The corner of her mouth twists into a vaguely guilty expression. "How-"

"You always were sentimental. Even the other Michael - my Michael – couldn’t easily abandon her, even after everything she's done to her."

A nostalgic sadness fills his eyes at the mention of the other Michael Burnham. Despite the truth revealed to her by Philippa, he looks like someone who lost a loved one. Michael wants to learn more.

"I am not her," she asserts.

Lorca sizes her up. "No. You're not. In so many ways you're better, I told you that."

His compliments have always made her feel… uncomfortable, but she never could pinpoint why. A certain warm feeling in her stomach, pleasant almost but intertwined with dread. She shakes it off, focuses back on her mission. Acquire the information. Get out. Easy.

“Let’s get this over with. What do you have for me? The weapon plans? Let’s hear it.”

"I don’t have the plans myself per se,” he drawls, “but I know a guy who does.”

Michael can feel the anger spark in her. “And who, pray tell, is the _guy_?”

“A fucking nutjob honestly, but reliable. Does business with anyone, no loyalty to any side. He has the plans and everything else you need.”

“And I’m guessing he’ll want something in return?” She gestures with her right hand which is still holding the phaser. It has the desired effect as Lorca glances nervously at it.

“A favor,” he replies. “He’ll give you what you need, but you’ll have to owe him a favor.”

Michael takes a moment to ponder that. Clearly, the Federation doesn’t do business with his type, but how much choice do they have?

“Alright”, Michael tucks her phaser back into its holster. “Where can I find him?”

“He’s usually somewhere around Vintaak system,” Lorca answers, his shoulders finally relaxing with the phaser out of sight. “But you can’t go there alone.”

Michael opens her mouth to protest but Lorca interrupts her. “He doesn’t talk to just anybody,” he explains. “You need someone he already knows. Someone like me.”

Michael nods. The whole thing is suspiciously convenient for him, and she’ll be damned if she lets him take advantage of her ever again. “Okay. Now tell me why should I trust a word of what you just said?”

He seems hurt at the abrasiveness of her words. "I've never lied to you, Michael."

She cocks her head to the side, narrows her eyes.

He sighs, "Omitted facts, yes, but never lied."

"Did you lie to her?" she asks abruptly. "To the other Michael?"

She doesn't know what possesses her to open this can of worms now, but the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. Her breathing quickens. All the unprocessed emotion of their unexpected meeting is bubbling up and she’s not sure she can keep it from spilling out.

His lips open in surprise. He walks closer, stops right in front of her. He raises his hand as if to touch her shoulder but then seems to change his mind and lowers it, balled into a fist. It doesn’t even matter because Lorca stares right into her eyes and it almost feels like a physical touch.

"Never.” His voice is raspy, almost breaks. “I’ve never lied to her. I was probably the only person who didn’t.“

Michael wants to come closer. She takes a step back.

“That’s not what Philippa said,” she protests, unconvincingly.

“You don't believe me but you’ll believe the Terran Emperor?” he mocks. ”Because she has proven herself to be so trustworthy and honorable?”  He tsks, “Michael, I thought you knew better.”

Michael knows he has a point and she isn’t eager to admit it. To admit how quick she was to trust the woman with Philippa Georgiou’s face. Still, she presses on. “She told me what you did to her daughter. How you influenced her from a young age and…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. The disgust written plainly on her face finishes it for her.

His mouth tightens. “ _That’s_ what she told you?” he grits out, leaning away from her. “She said-“

Infuriated, he starts pacing around. “I would _never_ ,” he swears. In two quick strides he’s back in front of her, towering over her. It would be intimidating were it not for the gentleness in his clear, blue eyes. “Not you. Not her, not- not any version of you, from any universe.”

Despite her better judgement, Michael believes him. There’s compassion in her for him, for the loss of his crew, his lover, his world. Still, it is far overpowered by anger and pain.

Back when she first learned of his true identity she barely had the time to deal with the news before she was fighting him, fighting for the lives of her friends, and then watching him fall to his death. Now she is forced to confront him and all the hurt his betrayal brought that she has tucked away, ignored.

And she must confront him, or it will fester inside her, keep her up at nights. She refuses to let him get under her skin like that.

“It doesn’t matter,” she fumes. “You still used me, manipulated me for your own gain from the moment that prison shuttle was beamed onto the ship.” She trembles, fingernails digging into her palms. “Did you orchestrate that too or was it _destiny_?” She spits out the word like an insult.

“You’re damn right I orchestrated it,” he admits, unfazed by her anger. “The second I saw your name in the database I made sure to help you, out of pure fucking sentiment,” he snaps.

He clenches his jaw, runs his hand through his hair. It’s not the confession she expected.

Lorca continues, heated, “You were not meant to rot away forever on some mining planet. You, Starfleet’s best and brightest. An officer who followed her own damn reason instead of some idiotic law or principle and got punished for it? They didn’t deserve you.”

He takes a deep breath, calms down. Looks away as if he can’t bear the sight of her.

“I got you out because that’s what you deserved. I kept you safe because I wanted you to be happy. And yes, because I needed you. I needed you to win the war, I needed you to get to Philippa and most importantly, I needed you because on some days seeing you was the only thing that kept me grounded and sane.”

His gaze lifts to meet hers and she is struck by the open emotion. It reminds Michael of the softness on his face when she lied and surrendered herself to him on Charon. He looks at her reverently, adoringly. It’s too much.

She sighs, closes her eyes, drags her hands down her face. She’s tired, tired of not knowing how to feel around him, tired of weighing his every word, seeking the truth and picking out the lies.

“What do you want, Michael?” he asks softly.

“Peace. I want peace of mind.” She neglects to mention the tingle she feels every time he says her name, stands close to her, tells her terrifying truths- it will never let her have that. There’s a difficulty in managing her emotions she experiences around him that has nothing to do with her Vulcan upbringing.

She opens her eyes. She doesn’t know what he sees but it looks like it makes him sad.

“It would be easier if I was dead again, wouldn’t it?” He blinks and suddenly he’s steady and composed. A mask. “Just end it,” he suggests. “I know you can’t do it in cold blood. Do you want me to attack you? Would that make it easier?”

She frowns. Her gaze falls down to his chest, to the open wound in his armor. Slowly, she reaches out her hand and touches the ragged edges. She hears him gasp, feels it under her fingertips. His death never sat right with her. It wasn’t justice, it was revenge. The thought of watching him die once again reveals one thing she feels about him that she can be sure of.

“I don’t want you to die,” she confesses.

“You should,” he breathes.

Her eyes slide up. She notices the gray in his stubble, the crow’s feet around his eyes, the firm line of his mouth. He is so familiar, yet not at all.

He has the face of the man who lied and deceived and saved her life. The man who spits on everything she believes in, the man who gave her a second chance. And yet there’s something different about him since his true identity has been revealed. Something softer, more… real. He’s afraid. Uncompromising. There’s an ever present ghost of a smile, directed only at her.

The fog inside her mind clears and with a cold shiver and a startling clarity, she finally understands. She likes this version of Lorca better.

It terrifies her.

“Discovery’s spore drive will not be operational until we find a non-organic navigator,” she finds herself saying. “It could be months, if not longer until that happens. Your best chance is to lay low until we get it fixed, and even then I can’t guarantee we’ll help you.”

The smart thing to do would be to bring him back to Discovery, keep him in custody and have him escort someone to Vintaak so they can gather the intel. Then send him to trial and execute the sentence. Mirror universe or not, he committed crimes and violated Federation laws. She’d never get to see him again, and he’d pay for his crimes.

She knows this, he knows this.

Lorca stares at her in reluctant amazement, slack-jawed, frowning. Michael stands her ground, head held high. With nothing left to tie him to her, no reason to help her now, she’s ready to say goodbye forever. She suspects – hopes – he won’t let her.

“Okay,” he agrees. Pauses, waiting for her to continue. She doesn’t. “I have the transport to Vintaak ready and waiting?” he adds. Lorca’s smiling at her like he’s just won a battle that was deemed doomed from the start. It’s an expression she has gotten to know well during her time on Discovery, though she’s not sure his eyes ever had this youthful spark they do now.

A million and one thought crosses her mind, plans and strategies cancelling each other out, until one plan, one idea is left.

Well, it’s not the worst she ever had.

Michael nods, straightens herself up, and holds out her hand.

“Let’s go.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> not 100% happy with this but it's the best i could do  
> miiight write a sequel if the inspiration strikes
> 
> once again, huge thanks to Maegfen for her prompts, and to the wonderful admins at ussarchangel tumblr for organizing the fic exhange!


End file.
